I'm No Hannah
by Phoenix-Flower92
Summary: Complete! Lilly thinks she's fat.
1. Forced To Eat

* * *

**Warning: This story contains the very serious and touchy subjects of eating disorders and cutting, just so that you are aware of what you are getting into.**

* * *

I wish I had a twin. An invisible twin, one that could sit here silently and wolf down the hot meal that my Mother has specially prepared, just for me, because she knows my secret. She knows I am not eating.

We haven't really talked too much about it. But based on what she has told me, I know enough to know that she does not understand. She claims I have nothing to worry about. That food will not affect my weight in any manner at this stage of my life. She is wrong. She is a liar. The mirror's story does not match what everyone else says. And who better than to believe than something that actually _shows_ me what I truly look like? My Mother is family. Of course I'm beautiful to her.

Besides, the mirror cannot lie. My Mother is just stupid. She's huge as it is—what does she know about being skinny? And she says it's Hannah's fault. That hanging around celebrities all the time has taken a toll on me. According to her, if I don't start eating, I can't 'be around Hannah anymore.'

It's not my fault Hannah is skinny. And pretty. Does it get to me? Heck, yeah, it does! I want to be pretty. I want people to cheer for me and ask for my autograph, and I want to receive awards and trophies just for being gorgeous and able to sing.

And I want hot celebrities like Jake Ryan to fall in love with me. I want to be in the limelight. I want a lot of things. But mostly, I want to be skinny.

"Eat, Lilly." My Mother whispers.

I almost feel guilty, because she prepared a special meal of all my favorites. Everyone else ate, and since I didn't, she went through the trouble to cook a second time. Just to see me eat.

"I'm not hungry." I lie.

In reality, my stomach grumbles. I'm so hungry, I could eat…wait. I'm not going to finish that sentence.

"You haven't eaten all day." My Mother points out.

"Well I haven't been hungry." I tell her.

"Lilly, please eat."

"No."

"Lilly!"

"Maybe one bite."

"Maybe the whole plate."

I sigh, slowly picking up my fork. The food looks great and disgusting at the exact same time. I want to eat it, because I am hungry. I want to refuse it too, because then I cannot gain weight.

My Mother takes a seat across from me, waiting for me to take a bite. Waiting for me to eat the entire plate. Tears press at the back of my eyes. I can't believe she is making me do this! What kind of Mother is she?

"Mom, I'm really not hungry!" I cry.

"Lilly, you're not fat." My Mom says quietly, "You are hungry, and you are going to eat. So you won't be weak."

I look down at my lap, because I know that her eyes are glued to me with one of those looks that only come from a Mother.

I hate my Mother.


	2. An Idea!

* * *

I will not even attempt to wonder how I made it through dinner, but somehow, I did. As soon as I'd finished the plate, I practically ran up the blue-carpeted stairs up to the second floor, where my bedroom was located. I slammed the door for emphasis, locked it tight, leapt onto my bed and into the covers, and cried.

Cried, that is, until a new idea wormed its way into my brain and settled into a seat, a giant smile plastered evilly to its face. It quietly murmured its plan to me, and suddenly I wiped my eyes, jumped out of bed, opened my door, and slipped into the bathroom. Shivering, not exactly thinking straight or pausing to ponder if I was doing the right thing, I turned the knobs on the sink in order to run water. Mom would only think that I was brushing my teeth.

Then an even better idea struck me. I turned off the sink, and instead, turned on the shower and closed the shower curtain. The shower made more noise and she would never expect a single thing. Not at all.

I knelt down on my knees now, lifting the toilet seat, still shaking uncontrollably. Taking a deep, shuddering breath, I stuck my middle and index finger down my throat until everything that Mom had forced me to eat came right back up. I hated myself for it, but at the same time…I felt better. Now it was as if I had never eaten dinner. As if my Mother hadn't sat in front of me and barked at me to eat or be sent to a stupid eating disorder clinic.

Smirking, I stood up, turned the shower off, flushed the toilet, and brushed my teeth on top of using a ton of mouthwash. I stepped out of the bathroom, returned to my room, and sat down innocently at my school desk to do my homework like a good little girl. A good little girl who didn't worry about being fat and ugly. A good little girl who ate all of her meals happily, and didn't throw up her meals in private behind her Mother's back.

A good little girl, who had a good little Mother that never in a million years would threaten to disconnect her perfect daughter from her glamorous, famous friend Hannah Montana.

Good little Mother…_ha!_ I could only wish that I had one of those.

I hate my Mother.


	3. Anger

My alarm blared the next morning with deafening pop music, but my bones ached too much for me to roll out of the stiff white sheets of my bed. My entire body felt tingly and numb, and my head throbbed. I kept my eyes shut, no attempt to get up—not until they played one of _her_ songs. Miss Perfect Hannah Montana.

The instant that the bouncy music began, I scrambled out of the covers, tempted to stomp on my radio until it died, died, _died!!! _

Stupid Hannah Montana with her stupid perfect life and her stupid perfect face and her stupid singing voice and all those stupid boys that stupidly stare at her like she's perfect because she is! I hate her blonde hair and envy her expensive clothes, I hate how she can afford to shop every week, and shop as in actually _buy_ things. I hate her and she is my best friend.

And because she is my best friend, I didn't stomp on the radio. Instead, I jabbed my finger on the off button, as hard as I possibly could without breaking it, and then looked up into the mirror with a gasp at how ugly I was.

My hair stuck up in all directions, long, blonde, and frizzy. Dark circles were under my eyes, and my cheeks were puffy and fat. I would be halfway pretty if my face wasn't so chubby. I stared at my image forever with a frown locked on my features, because I couldn't find the key for a smile.

Solemnly, I made my way downstairs for breakfast, where my Mother had fixed an omelet, toast, and orange juice. Just for me. Of course. I didn't complain this time; I just swallowed everything before me, and even requested seconds. I would throw it up first opportunity at school.

Mom cleared my plate when I finished, I grabbed my backpack as well as my skateboard, and I was out the door. My high school wasn't far from home, so within five minutes, I had arrived, was rushing down the hallway to the nearest girl's room, and was locked inside a stall, retching into the toilet. It was too early in the morning for teacher's to guard the restroom, so I was sure it was safe to throw up without being sent home. And unlike most assumptions, mine was true.

The moment I finished, I stood up and flushed. It was over. Now all I had to do was rid myself from the evidence: my breath. I unlocked the stall, and walked over to the sink, reaching into my purse for my toothbrush. I had thought of everything.

"Hey, Lilly!" A familiar voice called as high heels clicked into the tiled floor of the restroom.

I froze, turning towards the door where a certain brunette smiled innocently at me. Innocently as if she had not affected my life. Innocent, as if she wasn't the cause of my rising emotions. Innocent…oh, please!

"Oh…what are you…doing in here?" I questioned awkwardly.

"Oliver told me you were here," she shrugged.

_Oliver???_ My mind raced. I could have sworn nobody was here when I arrived, much less watching when I came into the restroom!

"Uh…I didn't know he was here yet." I tried to cover up my feelings, tried to cover everything that had been going on.

"Why are you talking like that? What's wrong? You sound upset." She came over to me, as if I wanted her comfort. As if I truly liked her, just because she was titled my best friend.

"I'm not upset!" I snapped.

"Are you sure, Lilly? Because you're a terrible liar, and you sound like…"

"You're calling me a liar?" I responded hotly.

"Well…no…but…Lilly, I'm concerned. Oliver said you've not been yourself lately and…"

"What are you saying? That you think he's right? What does he know? He's just a stupid guy!"

"Stupid guy?! Lilly, that stupid guy is your best friend! And he's worried, and…and now I am, too."

"Well don't be. It won't be worth your time, _princess!"_

I rolled my eyes at her, stomping out of the restroom. I had thought of everything, all right. Everything except snapping, right in front of Miss Perfect herself.

I hate Oliver. I hate Hannah Montana. And I still hate my Mother.


	4. Venomous words

**A/N: Thanks so much to all of the reviews I received for the previous chapters!!! They really motivated me to write another chapter as quick as I could! Virtual cookies to everyone, flavor of your choice! lol**

** So happy Thanksgiving! **

* * *

It didn't just occur overnight—I've always been ugly. I've confirmed that I've been blind up until now is all. I can say this because Mother cleaned out the basement while I was at school and uncovered proof--the baby pictures. For some insane reason, she was convinced that I would actually _want_ to look at them. I tried not to barf. 

I was a hideous creature—bald, with a double chin. Chunky, like I am now. I was probably the type of baby that, when taken into public, instead of every passerby whispering, _'awww!!!'_ they wrinkled their nose and questioned, _'what is that?! An alien?'_

I swallowed hard while looking through the pictures, knowing that one wrong statement and my Mother would send me to a therapy group or a psychiatrist.

"See honey, you were a cute baby!" Mom smiled proudly, "And now you're a beautiful woman."

I said nothing, just sat slumped on our plushy puke-green couch, wearing a mask that I could only pray was good enough to hide everything inside. I still think she noticed something, saw something, because she changed the subject abruptly for me.

"So…uh…how was school?"

I nearly snorted. _School?_ How would I know? Everything following the restroom incident is a blur. That's how angry I was. I remember leaving the restroom, and I remember Miss Perfect and Oliver sharing a look as if to say '_leave Lilly alone, give her_ _some space'_, but after that…I haven't the faintest.

"It was…" I began. I was about to say 'good' when the doorbell rang, and Mom sprang to her feet, sprinting towards the door. Ten seconds later, Mom reappeared with unpleasant news.

"Oliver is here to see you." She grinned.

With a moan, I pulled myself up from the couch and slowly walked into the kitchen, where Oliver now stood, a half-smile, half-worried expression on his face. Seeing us together, Mom left the room, taking the stairs to the upper level to leave us alone.

"Hey, Lil." Oliver greeted.

_Lil?!_ My stomach somersaulted, and in that cartwheel, lava seemed to form, oozing from my stomach, infecting my heart, dripping into my veins. If my eyes could change colors, they would have become red. Since when am I Lil? What gave him the right to nickname me? What made him think he'd even earned that?

"_Oli!_" I spat back with disgust drenching my features. At this, he seemed to shrink back, for some reason nervous and awkward. He glanced down at his shoes, suddenly fascinated by them. What a loser!

I crossed my arms, "Why are you here?"

"Why are you angry?" He returned, looking back up at me. His eyes were glossed over, more serious than I had ever seen them. "Are you mad at me?"

Words traveled up my throat like slimy miniature snakes, each with a word tattooed to its scale. Words that formed sentences, paragraphs… a whole speech. An angry, hardhearted speech. I wanted to speak, I yearned to open my mouth…and at the same time, those pleading eyes would burst into a thunderstorm if I were to speak my mind.

I kept it sealed in, zipped my lips, and simply stood in front of this boy, staring him down with daggers printed in my eyes.

"Lilly, please, what did I do? What did _Miley_ do?"

That was it—the lava erupted. I stomped towards him, tears sliding down my cheeks, my mind racing.

"I KNEW IT! That's it!" I shrieked, "That's all you care about isn't it? You're precious Miley. _Oh, what did I do?_ Hurt your precious future girlfriend's feelings? Well if you came for an apology you'd better leave this instant, because I refuse to say sorry. I--"

"Lilly, Lilly!" Oliver held his hands up, stumbling backwards and landing in one of our wooden kitchen chairs. "I didn't--"

"I heard about how you sent her into the restroom this morning." I interrupted sourly, "Why'd you do _that?_ Huh?"

"I thought she told you…we're worried…"

"Well don't be!"

"NO!"

"Yes! Don't you get it? You're so dense!!! I _hate_ you, Oliver. So do me a favor, and quit worrying about me. You don't see me worrying about you, now do you?"

My weather prediction had been correct—the thunderstorm had arrived in Okanland. I didn't care at the time of making the forecast, but now…now I backed away, shaking like I had an extremely dangerous fever, at what I had done. I'd let my guard down, released the venomous snake-words…and everything previously left unbroken in my life was now shattered.

Tears poured from Oliver's eyes, as if he were releasing an ocean. I'd never seen him cry. He was whiter than a sheet, and suddenly he scrambled up from the chair, and without glancing back, without a word, bolted.

A moment later, I bolted too, upstairs, where I collapsed onto my bed, sobbing.

I hate my life. I hate my friends. I _hate_ my Mother.


	5. It was the Knife's idea, I swear!

Would you believe me if I told you that the knife dared me? That it practically begged me with its shiny silver blade? That it called out my name, so lovingly and innocent? It convinced me with such a gentle tone that it could fix everything right on the very spot. I just had to obey.

I don't even know how it crept into my room. But it was there, lying on my ocean blue floor, so alone, so friendless. Like me.

Mother was not asleep yet, still downstairs watching TV, and I knew I wouldn't be able to slip down there to eat everything in sight without suspicions rising. So I crawled out from my covers, trembling, still crying, and reached out. On my knees, I curled my fingers around it tenderly, bringing it upwards, surveying it.

I think I used it a day or two ago to open something, probably a food item, a jar of somekind, and then forgot to return it to its home in the kitchen. I didn't really care how it was there, just that it _was _there. My heart began thumping inside my chest, my insides tightened in an unhealthy way, squeezing my ribs so tight I could barely breathe.

Adrenaline pumping vigorously, I rolled up the sleeve of my baby blue sweater and tentatively pressed the blade to my wrist, just enough to prick it. And then, I watched, fascinated, as a drop of blood rolled down my arm, followed by another, until there was an extended skinny line of blood trickling down my arm. Hungry by the sight and the sensation, I slashed again.

I hate myself! _Slash_. I hate myself! Another _slash_. I _hate _myself! Once again, another _slash._ I don't even remember feeling pain at the time.

When I finished, I grabbed my pink and black wristband that I wore everyday and slipped it on to cover up the cuts. No one would have to know. No one would even suspect a thing.

Eventually, I crawled back into bed, covering my face with my comforter, flashbacks of my day flooding my brain. Images of me yelling, screaming at Miss Perfect, screaming at Oliver, Mom showing me the baby pictures, Oliver crying…me, slitting my wrist. It was strange to comprehend. I think I've gone mad.

I hate myself. I hate Lilliana Larae Truscott. And because of her stupidity of bringing me into this world, (therefore creating this situation of me, crying and bleeding, and dying from the inside out,) I _hate_ my Mother.


	6. Breakfast?

The next morning I awoke to the bright and shiny sun glaring through my window. It was the worst way to wake up, honestly. I hate the sun and it's happiness and it's brightness. It makes me want to vomit explosively. Ugh! 

At least it was Saturday, so I didn't need to hop up right away, and I didn't have to worry about my stupid music alarm going off, either.

I moaned and rubbed my eyes, wiping off some of the mascara that I forgot to wash off the night before. I sat halfway up, but then, with a sigh, I buried myself back into my furry covers, so warm and snugly. My intent was focused on returning to my exit from reality. That was when mother dearest burst into my room.

"Lilly, honey, I'm taking you out to breakfast!"

My eyes nearly leapt out of their sockets. Was she serious! How could she? What made her think that I ever wanted to do such a thing? _And with her?_ Of all people!

I absolutely _hate _breakfast. How _dare_ she not know that? I_ hate _my mother!


	7. Lilly's attitude

�

"Lilly, _hurry up_!" Mother impatiently called from downstairs.

It had been ten minutes since she had delivered her nasty announcement—the fact that she would be taking me out for breakfast. Still, I had not moved so much as a limb.

Footsteps pounded up the stairs a second later, and my door burst open again. Stupid mother! Has she not heard of knocking? Just because she is my mother doesn't mean she is exempt from knocking before entering!

"Lilly! Did you not hear me? We're going out for breakfast, now please, get your butt out of bed and get dressed! Right now!" Mother scowled upon noticing me in bed.

She roughly shut my door, but not before shooting me a very stern and motherly look. My lips silently formed a word that never in the past I _ever_ would have considered using. Clenching my fists, I angrily untangled myself from my sheets and my blankets, stomping into my walk-in closet.

All of my clothes were ugly. That's part of my issue. Let's face it: anyone can look halfway decent if they can accessorize and wear high-fashion clothes with expensive jewelry and makeup. But mother won't even buy me jeans that fit. She thinks tight jeans are inappropriate, and every time I try on a pair that are a bit baggy, she says, 'oh! Perfect fit!'. So I am forced to wear jeans that require a belt, and my tops are not much better.

Sighing, I slid my tightest-fitting pair of jeans off of a hanger and grabbed an old, much-too-long t-shirt to throw on. Not willing to messy with my frizzy hair, I tied it up into a ponytail before grabbing my purse. My appearance was vomit worthy, but then again…when wasn't it?

I trudged my way downstairs with my arms crossed.

"Where are we going?" I asked in a bored tone as soon as I saw mother.

She smiled in a sickenly-sweet way, "Um, well, I was planning on leaving that up to you." Her keys were in her hands, and she opened the door, "C'mon, we'll decide in the car."

"Well, if it's up to me, _mother_, then I prefer to stay here," I narrowed my eyes, keeping my feet glued to the floor.

"No." she replied bluntly, "It'll do you some good to get out of the house." She walked on outside, just about to open the car door when I came running outside, one last attempt at avoiding breakfast.

"Well, if _that's _the only reason for this, then why do we have to go for breakfast? Can't we do something else? Shop? See a movie? Go to the beach?" I suggested, praying desperately for the escape of the repulsive scent of pancakes, maple syrup, and orange juice.

"Sure, we can go shopping." She shrugged, "That's no problem."

"Really?"

"Yeah. Just as soon as we eat a good breakfast."

"But--" I began to protest until mother shot me another one of her looks.

I emitted a sound similar to a growl, and I swear that I was shaking as I slammed the car door and aggressively buckled myself into the seat beside my mother.

"So, where to?" Mother still managed to speak softly, as if I wasn't acting like a problem child. As if I weren't the ugliest, brattiest, most ungrateful child on planet Earth.

"The mall." I answered defiantly, focusing my attention on the clouds out my window.

"Where to for _breakfast_?"

Instead of responding to her question, I reached for my purse and rummaged through it for my baby blue iPod. I turned the volume up as high as possible once I'd found it. Then I scrolled down to my playlist for angry moods, and began listening to the song, _Note To Self: Don't Die._

Fifteen minutes later, we pulled into the parking lot of Waffle House, and I groaned. Could she have not picked a better place? No place for breakfast is good, but seriously! Waffle House!

I didn't bother to put my iPod away, because mother's mouth was moving, and I just knew that she was yelling at me for groaning. I started towards the parking lot, but surprisingly, she grabbed my shoulder and stopped me. She yanked out my earphones and tugged my iPod out of my hands.

"I've always wanted an iPod." She said sarcastically.

There was a honk—we were standing in the middle of the road.

"Real smart, mother! Stop me in the middle of the road, _that's _real safe!" I dashed across the pavement, and into the restaurant, with mother very close behind.

Inside, a waitress named Ireland sat us down at a booth. The moment that Ireland walked off to give us time to decide on what we wanted, mother spoke.

"You had _better_ knock off your attitude, Lilly. You should really see yourself. You're acting like…" She trailed off, as if she'd never cursed in front of me before.

"You can _say_ it, mother." I rolled my eyes.

"There you go again! You know what? You can just forget shopping."

"Good. I don't want to go shopping anyway."

"And you're about to get more things taken away—more than just your iPod."

"I don't care. I don't care about _any_ of that stuff."

It was such a convincing statement, that I myself believed it. In fact, it was absolutely, one hundred percent true—I _didn't _care. I hate shopping and I hate my iPod, and I hate everything that I have. And yes, hating everything that I have includes hating my mother.


	8. Making a scene

"So, honey, what are you going to order?" Mother attempted to rotate the situation by sugarcoating her tone.

She even forced a smile, as if she had not just finished threatening to take away my things, as if I had not snidely replied, as if the air surrounding us were not tense, as if everything was absolutely and entirely fine. It was disgusting! I wanted to hurl.

"Oh, gosh, with all the options, mother, I don't know…perhaps…a _waffle?!_" I answered sardonically, instantly ruining her perfect mother-daughter breakfast fantasy.

Mother bit her lip and inhaled deeply, something that caused me to feel strangely content. I had power. I could _do_ what I wanted. I could _say _whatever I wanted, and no longer could she control me. She couldn't handle it. She couldn't even find words to express how my attitude was unacceptable. She was giving up!

Our waitress, Ireland, returned seconds later, and mother ordered coffee while I ordered apple juice.

"Anything to eat?" She questioned in an apathetic manner.

"No thank you." Mother's voice wavered.

"Nope." I told her when she glanced my way.

"Alright then." Ireland smiled faintly and walked away.

As soon as she was out of earshot, Mother narrowed her eyes, "I thought you were going to eat a waffle."

"Why should I? You aren't eating." I pointed out, crossing my arms.

"I already ate this morning, I came here for _you_." She spoke through gritted teeth, as if this whole plan had been mandatory and I would have died had she not taken me out for breakfast.

"Don't sound so thrilled." I warned her, "Heaven forbid you act happy to be around your own daughter."

"_Lilliana!"_

"I'm just being honest!" I admitted with a shrug, " I'm sorry if it offends you."

"Lil--"

Mother cut herself off as Ireland came back, placing coffee in front of her and sliding apple juice in front of me.

"There you ladies are." she said with a sigh, about to leave once more when mother spoke up.

"Thank you, and ma'am? Could you please bring a waffle as well? My daughter changed her mind."

"Certainly."

My mouth dropped. So much for having all the power! So much for thinking that mother would simply sit and take my insults and my rebellious comments. I knew I should have knocked on wood! I took a deep breath, gathering my thoughts on my next action should be.

"You're wasting your money. I'm not eating it!" I declared finally.

"Yes, you _are _going to eat it."

"No, I'm not! And don't waste your time lying about eating this morning. You and I both know that you _never_ eat breakfast. So why should _I_??"

"I've never skipped breakfast, Lilly!" Mother cried hysterically as if even the mere thought were outrageous.

"Since when? You never have time to _not _skip! You can't say anything about my lifestyle and my eating when you're no better!"

"What are you talking about?"

"Oh, don't act oblivious! I'm not stupid! I know that on Wednesdays, the day you weigh in at Weight Watchers, you practically starve yourself until you weigh in that night. You eat yogurt for lunch! Last time I checked, that wasn't healthy!"

"I don't solely eat yogurt, Lilly! And you _can't_ eat a whole lot before a weigh in!"

"Whatever!"

"What do you expect me to do, Lilly?" Her voice was terse and overflowing with ice now, "What do you want? Huh? You want me to eat something, too? Is that it? Because I don't think that's the issue. Now is it? What is your problem? I don't get it. I do _not _understand you."

_Well, of course you don't understand me! You barely even try! You think that you automatically know what I'm going through because you were a teenager at one point. Well, guess what? You can't relate! It's not like you ever cared about beauty, so how _could_ you relate? And it's not like people have played around with your emotions, acting as if you had none—exposing you to fame, knowing that there's no chance that you'll ever be able to actually _be_ famous._

"I'd appreciate it if you'd answer me when I ask you something, Lilly!" the harsh words ripped me out of my silent rant.

I rolled my eyes and shook my head, and then, angrily, I slid out of the booth, "I don't have to take this!" I shouted, grabbing the attention of everyone in the small Waffle House.

"_Lilliana Larae_!" Mother whispered abruptly, her teeth clenched. "Sit down!"

The veins on her forehead popped out and her face reddened dramatically. She was living her worst nightmare.

"No!"

"You are making a scene!"

"I don't give a--"

Mother's eyes widened and her eyes began sparkling with unshed tears Her face looked at me as if I were a monster, as if she did not know me, as if she never _desired_ to know me.

I sighed. "A _care_, mother! I don't give _a care_!"

She shook her head and broke eye contact with me, choosing instead to look away from me completely, in the opposite direction. Her body began to tremble, and I knew that the thunderstorm that struck Okenland the other night was contagious.

The lava that had been flowing through my veins for the past week froze for a moment in time, and in place of my heated feelings and my adrenaline-rush, my heart sank to the bottom of my stomach in a sickening way. It was as if my stomach was suddenly full of pure water, and my heart was like a more dense rock, dropping instantaneously to the bottom.

I tried to ignore the disapproving glares that everyone was directing towards me, glares not unlike the monster suggesting one that mother had given me. I bowed my head and swallowed roughly, sliding back into my seat in the booth, across from mother.

When the waffle arrived, I devoured it without a remark, or a sigh or even a roll of my eyes. I washed it down with my large apple juice.

Afterwards I excused myself to the restroom, locked myself into a stall, and unwillingly stuck my fingers into my mouth until it all came back up. I felt a bit guilty because I was sick of being depressed and angry and bitter, and once again to fix that I was retching my guts out…but then again, I was also sick of being ugly and fat, and besides, it was too hard to quit.

The feeling that rushed over me after throwing up was unexplainable. It felt good and right, and it lifted me up to Cloud Nine. Lost in my happiness, I grinned, and with an epiphany, I realized--it wasn't the issue at all; it wasn't what was contributing to my behavior! I didn't need to feel guilty in any way. The real issue was still bleeding her eyes out in the booth.

Ugh, I hate adults that cry and I hate strangers that are nosy and eavesdrop on private conversations that are none of their business! I hate Waffle House. I hate waffles in general, they're just pancakes in disguise. And I hate syrup because it's so sticky and nasty and I hate apple juice because it looks like pee.

But number one on my hatred list is the woman that gave me life. I absolutely _hate _my mother.


	9. Bleed it out

**A/N: Okay…so I'm attempting to make my updates for this story more frequently, because I'm very excited about this story…I think I'm actually going to finish it!! Lol. I even have it all planned out from here on out, and hopefully I can write out what I plan to occur in a convincing way.**

**Anyways…. enjoy ******

* * *

The four, silent sapphire walls pressed around me, protecting me from the outside world, concealing me from Miss Perfect and from Oliver and from Mother, and from anyone and everyone else that dared to pretend that they cared. I sat Indian-style on the square tiled floor in my small bathroom once again. The edge of the silver blade hovered above my wrist as I prepared to create a fresh cut.

For a moment I simply starred at my reflection in the knife, and all of my anger surfaced instantaneously. I'm so ugly and fat! I hate my disgusting and gross face! My eyes are so dull and gray when they should be sky blue or chocolate brown or even bright green—something that stands out and sparkles no matter what mood I am in.

My hair is too thin and a hideous shade of blond when it should be thick and blonder. It should be bouncy and curly at the ends, and my skin should be tanned, but no, instead it's so pale I look like a vampire or a ghost. It's never clear, either. I constantly have like a million red and blotchy zits that refuse to fade as if they are protesting my efforts to decrease my ugliness.

_Slash!_

My thoughts on the subject of my repulsive body features exited my mind and eagerly rushed at the new cut, blending into my blood and flowing out into the air to be set free.

I concentrated, searching for another topic that could begin an extremely heated conversation were it to come up…ah, hot guys…

I _hate_ hot guys, because it's no use to be obsessed over someone that will never look your way. Hot guys cause me to feel insecure and ever more unattractive than ever. When I see them I yearn to be beautiful, to be that one girl that causes them to blush and look back once they've passed me, for a second glance. To be that one girl that every guy desires, every guy is crushing on, and that one girl that every guy dreams about nightly. But I will _never_ be that girl—not even plastic surgery could transform me into that girl.

I am a caterpillar that is doomed to foreverly remain a caterpillar in lieu of one day becoming a gorgeous, breathtaking butterfly. I'm not exaggerating. The Jonas Brothers vomit at the sight of me, and I am not even visible to the magnificent eyes of Jake Ryan.

_Slash!_

For a second time, my anger found the wound and bled it's way out of it. It felt so unbelievably good. Cloud Nine floated down from the sky like a magic carpet and offered me a ride that of course I could not refuse.

I continued my rant easily; it wasn't like there was a lack of hatred in my body. I thought about how deeply I hated my filthy house, about how much of a slob mother is. I thought about how I hate school because all of my teachers are out to get me, and about how I'm failing two classes and on the verge of failing another one.

I thought about how my "sweet sixteen" had actually been my "sucky sixteen", because mother had been sick and hadn't had time to truly shop for it or plan anything worth remembering. I could have counted what I received on one hand—clothes, jewelry, gift cards, and gum. No big screen TV or computer, no new cell phone or anything like that. No car. No surprise party. Nothing.

I thought about how much I hated the spoiled brats at school who bragged about how their parents had purchased them brand new cars for their sixteenth birthdays, and how they were thrown the biggest parties ever, that lasted all night long, with live music and everything.

I thought about how I hated that my parents had divorced, because it ruined so many things. Why couldn't they have stayed together? Why did they get married in the first place and conceive a child if it was just going to break their love for one another? Couldn't they have put forth more of an effort to get along? I suppose not, not when I arrived, as revolting as ever. Poor dad. He just couldn't stand to look at me. I can't blame him…

_Slash!_

Eventually I had covered every aspect of my life, and in the end, I heaved a sigh of relief, leaning my head back on the wall behind me and looking up at the ceiling.

I hate myself and I hate my life--that much is obvious. But out of all the things in my life, out of all the things that I hate, one thing, (one person to be more specific), outshines everything else. She stands out the most, exceeds everything by a mile at least. My mother.


	10. Eye of the storm

_**A/N: I know…it's been quite a while since I last updated…I do apologize…**_

* * *

Mother had decided to take me out to eat again, this time for lunch, as if perhaps I'd be in a better mood were we to be eating at a different time of day. I expected to be full of rage the entire time, but that wasn't quite the emotion that greeted me after returning to the table following my usual vomit-routine.

No, I did not feel guilty.

No, I didn't feel relieved or happy or cured or…anything at all. In fact, a strange numbness washed over me. The previous urges to yell and scream and argue had evaporated.

Mother grabbed her purse and stood to her feet, tucking her chair under the table, and silently I followed her to the checkout. Our waitress didn't bother to ask if our meal had been satisfactory as she shakily reached out for mother's handful of cash. She did not smile. She did not look directly at us. She did not wish us a good day.

The rest of the afternoon seemed a blur. I don't remember the ride home, I don't recall walking up the stairs and into my cold-as-Antarctica bedroom. I don't remember plopping down onto my bed. One moment, we were in Bob Evans, and then I blinked, and I was wrapped up in my covers.

I lay on my side, facing the wall with my television, which wasn't turned on. I was comfortable, thoughtful. Not peaceful, but not angry. Just numb.

I wondered how long it would last? Surely the anger would return, full force, would it not? Probably it had taken a temporary leave of absence, enough time to multiply its intensity, only to return with ten times its previous strength. The emptiness I felt, it was simply the eye of the storm.

I blinked again, and my surroundings rearranged, like a puzzle being torn apart and then put back together. I was across from my locker in the school hallway, holding several textbooks, and the straps on my shoulders gave way to the fact that I was wearing my backpack. I sighed, slowly walking down the halls, my eyes focused down in an attempt to avoid the pitiful looks that I seemed to be receiving lately.

Everywhere I went, everyone analyzed me. Like I was some crazy, unique, scientific experiment. Like they were waiting for me to do something drastic. They were cautious around me, anticipating me to burst into flames or melt into a puddle at any second.

By the time the bell rang, I was seated in my assigned seat in Geometry class. Mr. Leopard began instructing, but his words did not flow into my ears. I didn't care what he said, I wasn't interested in his class or the work or my grade or any of it. I had already made up my mind to quit.

A small and low moan from behind me a slight hint of interest from within me, and I turned around, an eyebrow raised, to see David Vaughn frantically searching through his backpack.

"I can't find a pen…I need a pen…" he cried.

Immediately I offered up my one and only pen, on account that it wasn't going to be used as long as it was in my possession. The result? He freaked!

"But…are you _sure?!_" he questioned as I held out my black pen.

"I don't care," I shrugged. It was the truth.

"But it's your favorite pen," he insisted.

I shrugged a second time. His deep brown eyes looked me over carefully, worriedly, as if I were tricking him, as if him accepting the pen would result in an earful of insults. I rolled my eyes, dropping the pen onto his desk and turning back around to fold my arms across my chest. I thought about responding to him, but really…I didn't feel like it. I didn't feel like doing anything anymore.

Another blink, another room. This time I was sitting at a table in the cafeteria, alone, friendless, unwanted. It didn't bother me as I stared down at my lunch tray, piled with two helpings of everything. With a frown I gulped down the food without even tasting it, stood to my feet, placed my tray on top of the trashcans, and slid out of the cafeteria and into the restrooms to continue my routine. This time I didn't check to see if the restroom was empty or not. Did it honestly matter? I strode into the first stall, locked it, and stuck my fingers down my throat. I didn't inwardly smile and gloat at the warm sensation that bubbled up my throat. It didn't cause happiness to overflow when I finished.

I almost missed the anger, the emotions. At least when I was furious at everything, it was _something_. Now I felt nothing. I was sure that I could have stabbed myself and still not have felt pain. Perhaps, though, it wasn't so much the nothingness that I hated so much, but rather the fact that something had to be building up during it. I knew, deep within, that without a doubt, something was on its way. The rain, the hail, the thunder, the wind, the lightening—they all had a one hundred percent chance of coming. And nothing that I could possibly do would change that.

I inhaled and exhaled deeply. I hate storms, I really do. I used to hide in the basement whenever a storm broke out in the middle of the night. I hate the howling of the wind, the dangerous swaying of the trees. I hate the loud thunder and bright lightening.

But most of all, I hate my mother, for she is the cause of this particular upcoming storm.


	11. Love Me

**_A/N: Since I took forever with my last update…I decided I might as well update twice this week  lol. I love all of my readers and reviewers who have been with this story since the beginning, and I thank all of you very much. The end of this fic is certainly nearing…I'm excited and sad at the same time. Lol._**

* * *

The next few weeks slid by with very little incident. I ate. I vomited. I stared at the walls and the ceilings. I slept. I did what I was told without yelling or groaning or…anything, really. In fact, I hardly even spoke.

I was my own world, a small, private, isolated island in the middle of the ocean. An island that happened to be in danger, because the World's Most Accurate weatherman had predicted an upcoming tsunami to brutally strike it, attack it…and possibly murder it. My island was so small and fragile; I feared that such catastrophic weather would diminish it…maybe even sink it into the black and unforgiving waters, never to be seen or heard from again.

Yet, would it truly matter if something were to happen to my island? Would the world care? Would it be broadcasted on every news station about how the Earth had lost a small piece of land via storm? No. No, of course not. If anything, people would rejoice on how such an ugly little strip of land had vanished. They'd joke on how wonderful it had been that Mother Nature finally decided to wipe it out. They'd laugh and party, gloating around carefree and forgetting about the fate of the island within hours.

I shook my head as I thought about how cold and cruel and painful and horrible the world was. There was no happiness here. There was no love here. Couples never stayed together; promises were never kept. The only things I knew were unpleasant emotions. Guilt. Hate. Pain. Sorrow. Regret. Anguish. Apathy. Fear. Abandonment. Loneliness. I could barely stand it any longer!

What was the point of life?! Why did _I_ have to be here? Why did I have to be born as Lilliana Larae Truscott? My mind went back, to old locked up memories, as I thought about those bumper stickers that you often see at conventions and such. There was one that I remember in particular, one that said, _'Smile! You could have been aborted!'_ I understood it back then. For some insane reason, I laughed. But not now. Why should that make me smile now? Had I been aborted, I would have never known life.

I would have never known this ongoing suffering, would have never had to feel ugly and disgusting and gross and not wanted. I would have never had to be surrounded by people that were ten leagues ahead of me, women with perfect, coke-bottle shaped bodies and men with perfect, six-pack abs. People that cause you to think you're covered in dirt and grime, to wonder if you're invisible. People that glare at you like you are an alien, and you probably are. Born in some alternate world on some alternate planet, and the only ticket back is to pray…pray and beg and cry like a child that a storm will arrive, one powerful enough to break you free of the universe that you stumbled into.

I bit my lip, as once again, (without memory of how I got there) I sat on the bathroom tile. The knife lay glittering on the floor in front of me, waiting for my fingers to grip its handle and caress it, waiting for me to plunge the blade into my wrist, waiting for the delicious blood to stain it. But it was time for a change. I had begun to feel bored and unsatisfied with my wrist, and so today would be different. I pulled up my t-shirt to reveal my stomach, and, feeling artistic, allowing my emotions to guide me, I carved something below my belly button. Not slashes this time. Words. Two little words. They were jagged and haunting, a light red against my pale body.

When I finished, I let the knife tumble to the floor and I drew my knees up towards me so that I could bury my face into them.

I hate myself. I hate my life. I hate my friends. I hate food. I hate that stupid pen that I gave to David weeks ago, the one that he borrowed and then gave back because he thought I'd hunt him down and kill him if he didn't return it. I hate my teachers and I hate my grades. I hate emotions, but that's okay, because I haven't felt anything at all lately.

I hate everything and everyone in every possible way that I can. But still…_still_…above and beyond, I hate my mother the most.

* * *

_**A/N: I didn't know if I should go ahead and include the words that Lilly carved onto her stomach or not…so I decided not to. At least not just yet. Some of you have probably already figured it out...**_


	12. The end is near

**A/N: Well…. so I was trying to update more frequently…but it didn't work out too great, did it? Lol. I can't even use the excuse that I've been too happy to write a depressing fic, because actually…I've been practically the most depressing person on Earth lately…**

**But anyways…here's the next chapter!!**

* * *

The scary part is that I don't recall how I ended up there. Maybe I snuck out of my window and climbed down a ladder or even down a tree to the ground. Perhaps I simply used the front door. I honestly couldn't tell you. But I was there, staring up at the starry night sky. A gentle breeze began playing with my long and tangled blonde hair.

I stood at the edge of the pier, facing the black ocean, listening to the crashing of the waves, smelling the rain in the air. The atmosphere was thick and smothering as the wind picked up and the clouds moved in. A storm was brewing up.

I leaned into the cool wind without fear, closing my eyes and embracing the moment. I felt relaxed, calm, numb. It was all about to end. A crazy sort of happy coursed through my veins…a glitter of hope…

A laugh escaped my lips, one that almost shocked me. It wasn't familiar, almost not my own. It wasn't happy…it was different. Maniacal. Evil. Not right.

I continued it anyway as I stood there in my last moments, enjoying the fact that there would be no tomorrow, there would be no three days from now, no month from now, no...nothing from now on out. No worry or stress or anything ever again. I was smiling, giggling in a high-pitched fashion, up until…

"Lilly."

My happiness drained as it registered in my mind that I wasn't alone anymore. I didn't need to turn around to know who it was. My shoulders tensed, my eyebrows knitted together, and I mentally cursed, but I continued staring ahead, making no attempt to acknowledge the voice.

"Lilly." He tried again, and this time I could catch a glimpse of him out of the corner of my eye, so I turned slightly away in aggravation.

"What are you doing here?" I demanded. Was he that anxious for my riddance from the Earth? So excited, so pumped, that he'd come to watch it in _person?!_

"Following you." He admitted sheepishly.

"Stalker!" I accused, "Go home. It's late."

"It _is_ late," He agreed, "We shouldn't even be here. If we get caught out here this late…"

"So _go_!"

He sighed, inhaling and exhaling in a very dramatic fashion. "Listen," he said, "I was in my room tonight, up late with video games and such, guy things you know, and I was just about to call it a night and turn the lights out when I saw you walking down the street. It looked like you were headed for the beach and I guess I was curious."

"I see."

He shuffled around awkwardly, "So well…I guess what I mean is…why are you here?"

"The ocean is beautiful." I stated carefully. Maybe if I could trick him, maybe if I could convince him that this was a routine, that I came here often, he'd be satisfied and he'd leave.

"Yes, it is, especially when you can really see it, when the sun is high in the sky and it's sparkling in the waves."

"I prefer it at night."

"And you can also prefer it tomorrow. C'mon, Lilly, the ocean will still be here tomorrow."

I rolled my eyes. This was going to be a challenge.

"I came here for peace and quiet. To _think_." I tried, my voice coated in ice.

"What are you thinking about?"

"If I wanted you to know, I'd have already told you, stupid. If I wanted _you_ to know, why would I even _be _here?"

"You're right. You're absolutely right."

"I _am_." I stated fiercely.

I felt so powerful again. Like I could do anything. I was about to take my own life…no way I couldn't force an annoying past-life remnant to return to his home and snuggle under his covers, vowing to forget that he ever followed me out to the beach on the night of my mysterious disappearance...

"Okay, so…I'm sorry."

"I don't want to hear your mouth, I want to hear your footsteps fading off into the distance." I snapped.

A gentle howl rang out from the wind and the waves around me increasingly became more violent, but footsteps? Footsteps I still did not hear.

"I meant immediately." I growled, wondering slightly what facial expression he held.

"I…can't." he mumbled.

"What do you mean?"

"Lil—Lilly—I just…I can't do that. I _won't _do that."

The wind howled even louder around us, to the point where it was roaring in my ears. Long moments passed, with nothing but the sounds of the ocean and the wind, and for a while I could pretend that he wasn't there. Like I'd never been interrupted, like the plan was still flawless, like my exit from the world was merely minutes away.

"Have you ever thought about it?"

It wasn't part of the plan; in fact, it should have been the last thing I ever decided to talk about, especially if I was aiming to persuade him to leave. I didn't know why I'd brought it up, but I had, because for some odd reason they tumbled from my lips without permission, out in the air and into the open. They were vague, but then, he wasn't stupid. That much I knew. I didn't need to glance over in his direction to be certain that his face was contorted into a horrified expression.

His breath hitched, the wind cried, the entire sky above lit up for a millisecond, and the first deep, rumbling thunder sounded from a distance. And then, another first for the evening…it was completely and utterly _silent._

Softly, leaning onto the rusty, cold rail, I continued, "Don't tell me you haven't. It's human nature. When everything's horrible, nothing's going right, you've had day after day after day of enduring the most unpleasant things…it hits you. Just ending it all. Just…overdosing on a pill or putting a gun to your head or taking a knife and slicing it into your heart? Or even…" I trailed off, staring intensely at the waves, mesmerized…

Out of fear of my potential movements, Oliver reached out, gripping one of my clammy hands from the rail. I allowed it. I allowed Oliver Oken to take my hand into his and just hold it. I didn't know why, but I did.

What was wrong with me??

A sob broke out beside me, a quiet cry from a boy that meant nothing to me. From a boy that I still refused to look at as I stared out at the black night, shivering as a light drizzle began to fall.

"Please…" Oliver choked out, "Please, Lilly…Lilly, please…oh, Lilly…" It wasn't long before it became a chant, "Lilly…please, no…Lilly…not here, not now…Lil…"

A hand was on my shoulder, and suddenly I was facing him, and then there was another noise. Another sob, another cry, and it took me awhile to realize that it was me.

We embraced each other for I don't know how long, just standing there at the end of the pier, crying and weeping and sniffling as the storm arrived all around us. In a second the drizzling morphed into heavy, rapid rain, the winds raged, the thunder boomed, the waves crashed, the lightening lit up the sky…nature was surely calling for me. It was ready. It had come to pick me up, to take me home…

"C'mon," Oliver said gently as we pulled apart, "Let me walk you home."

I glanced back out into the ocean, returned to his pleading face, back to the ocean, and then again at his face. I sighed.

"Oh...ummm...okay."

The events were becoming more and more unbelievable as I struggled to understand them. Nothing made sense and everything was coming apart. I was in a dream, I was in a movie, I was performing a badly written script by some unknowledgeable person who obviously didn't know the new me. Perhaps I was already dead. Whatever the case, it certainly wasn't reality as together we turned away from my escape and strode forward. We didn't bother with running, since we were already drenched from head to toe. We simply took our time, walking side by side until we'd arrived on my doorstep.

Once under my porch, Oliver examined the both of us and groaned, "We're going to be so sick tomorrow…being out in the middle of a storm…wearing wet clothes for who knows how long…"

I almost smiled, I really almost did, but finally I felt my strength returning, my anger arising as the strange part of me from back at the pier dissolved. The arrival of the storm had renewed it, and I was back. Better than ever.

"Well, _you _will be sick." I corrected him.

His eyes became grave and sincere, "Promise me something, Lilly." He whispered.

I narrowed my eyes, "I don't make promises."

He shook his head, his voice almost breaking, "Please, Lilly. Just hear me out."

"Just go, Oliver, before you start blubbering again!"

He took both my hands into his, obviously ignoring my comments, "Please. It's important."

"Well spit it out!"

His brown eyes glistened with tears. "Promise me that you won't kill yourself tonight."

My eyes widened in horror, and I dropped my hands from his like he'd burned me. I shook my head repeatedly and I tried to keep the tears from welling up.

"I can't make you that promise."

And I hated him with everything that I had in that moment. I hated him for interrupting my appointment with death, I hated him for causing me to agree to walk home with him, and I absolutely hated him for requesting such a promise. Nausea swept over me as I realized how stupid I was! Stupid, stupid, _stupid, _Lilly!!

I hate myself. I hate my life.

I hate my school. I hate my grades. I hate my classmates. I hate my teachers. I hate the radio and all of the media.

I hate my house.

I hate food.

I _hate_ Oliver Oscar Oken.

I _HATE _my mother!

* * *

**A/N: Well…I'm not sure if it turned out quite the way I wanted it to…but hopefully everyone liked it…naturally, things are beginning to change for Lilly now that the end is near, new thoughts, _confused_ thoughts, changes in the narrations in general...don't worry...I know what I'm doing...I think...lol.**

**There will be at least one more chapter, maybe two...possibly more...I don't know. We'll see! :)**


	13. Suicidal

I was running out of time.

I was running out of options.

I was running out of the ability to think coherently.

I had made the biggest mistake that I could have possibly made and now everything was ruined. Absolutely, completely, utterly ruined. It was all my fault. My mistakes. I was the one to blame. And I hated it.

It had been so perfect before, so flawless of a plan. But no! Oliver just had to notice me from his bedroom, and just had to go after me, and I just _had _to tell him of my plan. I couldn't comprehend it. What had caused me to spill?? Was I honestly that stupid? Now I was in danger of there being no plan at all. Period.

I hated myself. I hated Oliver. I hated Hannah Montana and I hated all the perfect faces in the media, all the people who had cosmetic procedure after cosmetic procedure, resulting in glamorous, sexy, Barbie Doll figures.

I hated school and I hated my friends, which were nonexist. I hated all the backstabbers and betrayers and I hated all the gossip that floated through the halls on a daily basis.

I hated my home because it was constantly a wreck and there was never a good selection of food. I hated my past life, because I couldn't get beyond it, couldn't recover from how wonderful things used to be, back when I was a child, so vulnerable. So carefree. So oblivious…

I hated my Mother. In fact, I absolutely, positively loathed my mother. She was a horrible mother, the worst mother. I couldn't stand her! But as my thoughts churned, spinning around and around in never-ending circles, I realized something. It _wasn't_ my mother, after all, that I hated so intensely, so passionately, so above everyone and everything else in the universe.

It was _me_.

I raced into the house and began scrambling around. Knife. I needed a knife. I grabbed the first one I found in the kitchen, one that was in the sink. Probably waiting to be washed. I didn't care. I rushed into my room and quietly slid the door shut, keeping in mind how late it was. I plopped down onto the floor, lifting my shirt to reveal my pale skin. I didn't hesitate for even a second. Angrily I slashed at myself as my mind still swirled and I still attempted to decide on what to do.

I tried to remember back when I actually knew Oliver. It seemed like years and years and years ago. What would he do with the information I'd given him? How would he handle the situation? Did he believe my words? Would he take action tonight? Or would he wait it out and hope against hope that I'd lied?

I held the knife at my side now, my newest idea. I prepared to slash it, concentrating hard, relying on and trusting in the deep, comforting silence…

"LILLY!"

My door burst open, and I gasped as out of fear and panic, the hand holding the knife involuntarily plunged deeply inward, stabbing into my side.

I don't remember there being any pain. Maybe there wasn't. At least, not at first. I cannot accurately recall anything that happened next. I think I went into shock. Mother began screaming and crying, and she lunged for the phone, and it was held tightly in her hand, and she rushed at me, and the room…the room was a merry-go-round…spinning and spinning…and spinning and whirling…and my surroundings became tiny gray dots until finally, finally…it all simultaneously blacked out on me…


	14. Loss of Miss Perfect

**A/N: Sorry it's been so long since I've updated this! I knew where I wanted to go with the story, but I wasn't sure how to lay out this particular chapter. And honestly, I'm not sure if I'm all that happy with it...but hopefully everyone will still like it.**

* * *

You know your life truly sucks when you try to kill yourself and you can't even do _that_ properly because you are revived.

And naturally, of all lives to have the honor of truly sucking, mine is among them.

I don't know how long I was out of it, but when I awoke, I was staring up at an unfamiliar ceiling and I was hooked up to an IV. My bed had plain, white blankets, and I was wearing a stupid, hideous gown. There was no mistaking it: I was in a hospital.

Glancing around, my room was extremely empty. There was my bed, of course, and the IV next to me, a tiny bathroom off to the side, and an uncomfortable-looking chair sitting in the far corner. That was it; no one was even in the room, waiting for me. Did no one care?!

I was just about to panic when the door to the room slid open and a nurse came striding in.

"Ms. Truscott! Ah, you are awake!" She smiled gently, "I'm just here to refill the IV before it begins to annoyingly beep at you." She was trying to be funny, I suppose. I wasn't in the mood.

"But I'll alert your family about your status," she assured me as she finished her task.

Before she left, she unplugged my IV for me so that I could use the restroom. Slowly, weakly, I walked to the restroom and lightly closed the door behind me. The mirror on the wall and over the sink was small and needed cleaned, but as I stared into it…I don't know. Everything seemed different, now that all my emotions, all my hatred, all my actions…they had all contributed to landing me in a hospital. And for what? I was more ugly now than I ever had been. I was beyond pale, and so fragile; there were dark circles under my colorless, sad eyes; even my hair did not appear healthy. I was such a mess!

I wasn't sure how to feel, which was even worse than my apathetic spell. When I had been apathetic, I simply didn't care--about anything, at all. But now? Now everything was confusing. I felt like a little kid, not knowing how to react to the situations around me. I did still hate myself, that couldn't just easily melt away like I wanted it to, but the hate wasn't on the level that it had been previous to the hospital. I didn't have enough strength to generate that much emotion, not anymore. I needed help; I needed to get better. Not for all the people that I thought I hated so intensely, but for me.

I think I was sobbing when I heard a door outside the restroom open and close—the main door, the one to my room. Curious, I slipped out of the restroom, and next I knew, I was standing beside my bed, shivering in that horrible gown, unsmiling, and across from someone I wasn't sure I was ready to face just yet. Here I had been, willing to recover, willing to return to how I used to be, and now _she_ had to show up. Of course. _Of course._

Shaking not only from the cold, I quickly hopped onto my bed, raising it into a sitting position.

"Lilly," She spoke, inching forward until she stood at the edge of the bed.

"Miley," I returned carefully.

She looked down at the railing on my bed, "I…don't really know what to say. I…can't say sorry because I know that's not enough and it doesn't fix anything."

"No," I agreed, still struggling to remain calm, "I guess it doesn't."

"I just…Lils…I don't understand." She looked up at me, her eyes tearful.

I sighed, staying silent for a moment. She was silent as well, and the atmosphere was entirely uncomfortable.

And I couldn't handle it anymore; I couldn't do it. I started crying harder than ever—I knew what I had to do. I couldn't yell at her anymore and roll my eyes at her and refuse to think her true name by calling her 'Miss Perfect.' No. I had to tell her the truth. I had to tell her what was wrong.

"You can't say you're sorry because…I am the one that needs to apologize," I cried, "I got caught up in all the fame that you have, and I've never been so jealous in my life. It's just, you're so perfect, Miley. Little Miss Perfect; that's who you were to me for so long. You were the enemy. You were my best friend and I hated you. _I hated you_. I'm not even sure who I am anymore, and I'm not sure about anything. I'm sorry. Really, I am."

She didn't come any closer. She just stared at me, almost in disbelief, though how she didn't see this coming, I couldn't comprehend. Didn't she feel my hatred all those times we passed in the hallway at school? Didn't she see that our friendship had been torn asunder? Or was she stupid and blind to all of her surroundings?! If she was, then I maybe I would never recover from my feelings towards her. Maybe I could not be healed.

Another unbreakable silence followed, perhaps even more awkward than the first. She looked deep in thought as she stood there, and then she said, "Oh." She turned to the door, "I get it. I hope you get better, Lilly. Really. I do."

The last part sounded like an imitation of my apology, but she hadn't stayed to see my facial expression. She was gone.

The sad thing is, I knew it was forever. I knew it was forever, and I wasn't even sure how to take it.


	15. Oliver's Love

I was crying, lightly, after Miley's departure. My stomach still felt nauseated due to the encounter, since it had happened to be the one that I just hadn't been ready to face. I wasn't sure if I wanted to be left alone in the room again, or if I wanted someone else to visit me. But it didn't matter; the door reopened, and this time, a certain boy stepped inside. He, too, kept his distance at first. In fact, he stood in almost the exact spot Miley had when she'd first came in.

"Hey," he smiled lightly in a sympathetic fashion, "They're only allowing one person in at a time," he explained.

"Ah," I said…and then, realization struck. "Oh," I continued in a whisper, "and she wanted to…"

"_She_ wanted to come in first," he confirmed.

I think he knew that this news had upset me; he came forward quickly, all the way to my side, unlike _her_. She'd treated me like a disease, or like a dangerous animal with the way she'd kept her distance, with the way she'd crawled forward. But Oliver Oken, he knew the real me. He knew I was still there, deep down inside. He knew I wasn't crazy and wouldn't slit his throat. After all, I was more of a danger to _myself_—not to the people around me. I'd insulted everyone in ways unimaginable, but I wasn't about to physically hurt the people that came near me. Miley had been oblivious to such a fact.

Oliver, though—Oliver sat on the edge of my bed, right next to me, and it meant the world.

"I know. It's not fair. But we're moving on from it, okay? It's going to be okay now." He assured me. I was still crying at this point, but not from anger.

"How do you know?" I croaked. How could he possibly tell me that everything would be all right???

"I'm not saying it's going to be easy, Lil. I'm not even saying that the worst is behind you, because it's going to take everything in you and more to get better. But you can do it; I believe in you."

"I couldn't even keep the promise. Not really. Not since I _tried_ to." I whimpered, remembering back to what seemed so long, long ago now, back when Oliver tried to make me promise not to kill myself.

"I know." He sighed, "So you understand why I had to do it?"

My eyebrows furrowed in confusion, "Huh?"

"I thought you'd figured it out, and you'd be mad at me about it." He confessed, "Your mom, she didn't burst into your room on accident, Lil. But you understand, I had to do it. I had to call her, warn her, on her cell phone, so you wouldn't hear the phone ring. I had to let her know you were in trouble. I'm not going to apologize for it, because I wouldn't change that action if I could travel back in time. You mean too much to me."

And he was so sincere, how could I be mad?

"Oliver…" I started, "thank you."

In truth, had I really wanted to die??? Like everything else in my life at the moment, I wasn't sure. But if I'd had to guess, I'd say no. I didn't really want to die. What I'd really wanted more than anything was to escape from all the pain and suffering that I had created for myself. Dying wasn't the only solution to escaping from those things…was it?

Oliver was giving me a strange look, like he was analyzing me, staring deep down into my soul. It was a look of fondness, with his eyes so light and loving, and his smile so soft. It caused my tears to continue flowing. What had I done to deserve this? Didn't he remember? I'd told him I'd hated him!

"Oliver, there's something I need to tell you," I sobbed."

"What is it?" He leaned forward to listen.

"Oliver…when I said…I didn't mean…and, well…" I sighed, inhaling deeply, "Oliver, I _don't_ hate you."

His eyes closed for a moment, and when he opened them again, they were crying.

"I'm so sorry, Oliver." I said.

He looked down at his lap, "Thank you; you don't know how…how good it feels to hear you say that." Now he returned his glance to me. "It hurt me so bad when you told me that, Lilly. I should have taken the warning then, gotten you help then, and maybe you wouldn't be _here_ now. But I took it personally, and…I guess it hurt me so bad because, Lilly," he paused for a second, looking deep into my eyes, "I love you."

* * *

**A/N: Well...only two more chapters remaining!!!! This story is almost to a close, which is very exciting for me, (I don't think I've ever made it to the end of a story before!) but at the same time...it's kinda sad. I'm going to miss writing this story. lol. But I'll save all my thank-you's and virtual cookies until the last chapter...and we're not there yet!**


	16. I don't hate you

I regret it, but after Oliver confessed his feelings for me, I simply sat there. He'd put me in an incredibly awkward position—I didn't want to lie to him, and tell him I loved him. I mean, how could I love him? How could he expect_ me_ of all people to _love_ him??? I didn't know what love was; I didn't know what _any_ emotion was.

He smiled, though; he knew this was difficult for me. "It's okay," he assured me, "I know…it's too early."

"I just…all I know is I don't hate you." I glanced down at my lap.

"I understand," he nodded, "but you need to know you've got people who care."

I looked back up, and now it was my turn to smile. It was a real smile, not a crazy, maniacal one, but…a true, normal smile. It wasn't big, and it didn't last long, but it counted.

He leaned over and kissed my forehead, "I'm going to leave you for now, okay? I'm sorry. I don't want to, but there's lots of people still waiting to come in, and I'm sure I'm holding them up."

"Bye," I said quietly as he stood to leave.

"Bye," He returned, walking to the door, opening it, waving to me, and finally, closing the door behind him.

It really did feel strange to only be allowed one visitor at a time. What was wrong with two people coming o see me at once?! But at least this way, the conversations could be personal. I could apologize to each person individually.

Mother was the next person to enter the room, and you can imagine how horrible that was. With every new face, the same questions posed: What to say? How to apologize?

Mom seemed nice enough, though. She hugged me and told me she loved me, and I told her the same thing I'd told Oliver: that I didn't hate her. Which, in turn, also, like Oliver, caused her to cry in relief.

Everything seemed to be going good, or as good as it could go, for such a situation. But Mom and I both knew changes had to be arranged. I had to get help; I had to get better. And I couldn't do it living amongst so many Hollywood stars.


	17. The Right Thing

**A/N: Alright, so...I've put off posting this because it saddens me to leave this story behind, but, this is, officially, the last chapter for _I'm No_ _Hannah._ Which also means, officially, I have completed a chapter story :) So that's a new first for me.**

**I'm extremely grateful to all of my reviewers throughout this story--I wouldn't have made it this far without all of your support. I do write for me, but reviews are definetely a plus. When it comes to fanfiction, reviews _are _a huge motivator. They are, in fact, what have kept me writing for _Hannah Montana_ for so long. So thank you very, very much :)**

**And I hope I've ended this well for everyone!**

* * *

"This is the right thing, you know."

For the thousandth time, the words slipped from her mouth.

"It's a little late to be saying that _now_, mother," I said, and Oliver sent a concerned look towards me while my mother narrowed her eyebrows.

I sighed, "What?! I can't be sardonic? I can't be tired and annoyed grumpy from waiting for non-ending hours on a bench that isn't even comfortable? I'm not evil anymore, you guys! I'm just…not in a good mood, okay?"

The three of us were sitting in the Malibu airport, just counting down the minutes as we waited for it to be time for me to board my plane. I think mom felt guilty about the whole thing, which was why she kept sounding like a broken record and all. To her, my mind hates her for sending me away, and she thinks that I think she's sick of me, and therefore sending me off so that she doesn't have to deal with me anymore. But I've known just as well as she has that, ever since the hospital incident, it would come down to this. I suppose I just…hadn't wanted it to be so soon? It had only been a few weeks.

Mom glanced down at her watch, "Well, it should be any second now."

With this, Oliver straightened up in his seat, "Mrs. Truscott, could you…ummm…can I speak with Lilly alone for a second? I mean, do you mind?"

My mother smiled warmly at the boy, "Sure, I'll just…yeah, I'm wanting a cup of coffee really bad."

She stood up and began walking towards the _Starbucks _and I myself couldn't help but slightly smile. "What do you need her to leave for?" I asked.

He turned to me, "It's hard to say goodbye with your mother standing over me," he shrugged, but then, with a deep, painful inhale, "God, it's hard to say goodbye in the first place."

"I know," I nodded. My stomach felt all strange for some reason and Oliver's eyes turned soft.

"What's wrong?" He asked as I looked down at my lap and sighed.

I shook my head, "I just…what if…?"

A tear slid down my face. How could I explain to him all the doubts that kept shoving themselves into my brain? How could I explain to him the depth of my fears? Mother kept saying this was the right thing, and I kept saying it too, but…what if it wasn't?! What if everyone here, in Malibu, was telling me goodbye, and it really _was _goodbye? There was no absolute guarantee, after all, that I would get better. I mean, what if I got worse? What if I tried to kill myself again—and succeeded???

"Lilly," Oliver reached out and held his hand under my chin, and suddenly I was forced to look at him. "Lilly, no."

"But—it's just--"

"Shhh." He said. "Listen, you're going to do great. Don't start thinking about the 'what ifs' now because they'll tear you up. Focus on what's ahead of you, and don't worry about what's already occurred."

It sounded like good enough advice, but…it was just one of those 'easier said than done' sayings. How could I simply block out all those scary thoughts that were rushing at the highest speeds into my mind? Exactly. I couldn't.

"Okay," I told him anyway.

He let go of my chin, and reached over to one of the seats to grab the skateboard he'd brought.

"Leaving before I even take flight?" I questioned, trying to hide the disappointment in my voice. Oliver was one of the few people who still continued to treat me like a human, who still continued to be nice to me.

He chuckled, "Lilly…I didn't actually skateboard all the way here. It was, well, sort of…an excuse."

"An excuse?" I asked, confused.

"I didn't want to ruin the moment."

"You're starting to irritate me."

"Sorry," he apologized, "I mean, I didn't want to ruin right now," and he held the skateboard out towards me.

I shook my head. What was he doing? What was I supposed to do? I didn't get it.

"It's…for you," he pressed on. "I want you to have it."

"The skateboard?" I looked at him skeptically, as if he'd lost his mind. He probably had.

"The skateboard," he confirmed, "You see, the real you, well, not the real you, I suppose, because this is the real you…but, I guess, the old you, the part of you that you've sort of forgotten about, the girl deep down inside you, well, she loved to skateboard."

"And so you're giving me your favorite one?" My eyebrows furrowed.

He nodded, "I want you to get back into it. It'll help you remember your old life, and how happy you used to be. And if you want to remember me, too, by it, then, well…"

Again, I smiled slightly. I think that was the best I could really do for now; a slight smile for me was equivalent to an ear-to-ear smile on a normal, happy, confident person.

I did want to remember Oliver. I did want to keep in contact with him. I just…wasn't sure about the board.

"Take it," he insisted, still holding it out, "if only because I want you to."

I sighed, "Now you're just being cheesy." But then… "Okay." I reached out and took the skateboard from him.

"Thank you," he breathed.

"Thank you," I replied, "But now it's just feeling a little awkward…"

I turned towards the _Starbucks_ to see if my mother was anywhere near back. She was at the checkout, paying, so I returned my gaze to Oliver.

"So what now?" I asked.

"What now is that I want you to write to me while you're away. It's not forever, Lilly. You are going to get better, and if you don't come back here, well…then I'll just have to come there. I would, you know? I hope you know that. For you, I would. But for now, we have letters that we can write to each other, because I'm old-fashioned and I still get excited over getting a letter in the mail-box. And we have phone-calls, if you ever feel up to hearing my voice, and I'll always want to hear yours. And we have texting, to mix the old-fashioned letters with today's generation so that we're not completely cut off from the newest technology. And we'll always have each other, because even though we'll be apart, at the same time…we won't be. I'll still be there; I promise."

Oliver reached forward, and placed his hand over my chest, over my heart, "My heart is yours, Lilly."

Now he opened his arms, and I was crying as I embraced him. We hugged for an eternity, but that was okay because I found that I didn't want to let go. I still did not love him, because I still couldn't recognize that emotion. But I knew that I liked him. I knew that he meant a lot to me. I knew that I was grateful for him, and that without him, I wouldn't still be _here_ at all.

Reluctantly, we pulled apart, and he kissed my forehead, "You have the key." He whispered, and I nodded.

It was Mom's turn to hug me, and I was still crying from my goodbye to Oliver, and she was crying, and I even think Oliver was crying, because suddenly, Mom had grabbed him and pulled him into our hug, and it was one big, three-way hug.

"I love you," Mom cried, even as the intercom announced for my flight to board.

I wiped my wet face and I inhaled and exhaled and tried to feel strong as I left the two people in my life that I didn't hate. I was walking backwards, waving to them, memorizing their faces and this moment.

"Be good!" Oliver yelled as I finally turned to face away from them. Those two words still echoed in my ears as I sat on the plane.

And that was it. I really was on the plane, on my way to Virginia. Soon I would be with my father, and he would help me in the healing process. It would be a whole new atmosphere, with new people and faces and no more Hollywood.

I closed my eyes as the plane took off, thinking, _this is the right thing._ Given time, it would be.

* * *

**A/N: Thanks again to all my reviewers!!! And let me know how you liked the final chapter!**


End file.
